I tend to like a few magical stand-ins, moreso than whole-cloth magic that you tend to see in D&D-type settings. I probably would have leaned into it a bit more had I not needed to speed toward the ending. Similarly, I would have explored more of the characters and setting (not that it wasn't a glorified Monster Hunter story), but I just pushed as fast as I could toward the ending, so a lot got left on the cutting room floor, like dialogue, for example.

I wish to tell you all so well, a place of which I’m fond,a magic world to be unfurled that’s named ‘Primal Beyond,’where sunlight shines in daydreams kind throughout the mellow noons,while softer light descends at night from wane or waxing moons,the trees will dance, their bramble branches held aloft by roots,no thicker than the feet of men who never tramp their boots,to sully here the ground so clear, and fresh and soft and green,they never march beneath the arch of rainbow’s prismic sheen.

This is no place to show your face, it’s for a different kind,it is a spot wherein a lot of elementals finda place where they can come and stay, wherever they may roam,where fate has sent the elements an uncorrupted home,the rock face spliced with sheets of ice, the swampy forest fields,each cliff, each ditch, a vein of rich ripe mana this place yields.They work, they play, they come, they stay, the elementals toil,from peaks to ponds the land responds, it must not be despoiled!

We must leave here before the clear skies darken with the smog,we must be done, or else the sun will flee just like a dogwill run when whipped. We’ll make a crypt of this rare paradise,we’ll split the trees and taint the breeze and vaporize the ice!Our feet will crack the rocks and blacken all the grass and leaves,I beg you no, let us just go, my wretched heart, it grieves!I don’t rejoice, I have no choice, I’ll heed my creature bond,as we despoil with glistening oil, this lost Primal Beyond.

The seer’s sundial, tool of the greats,The portal of destinies, window of fates,Does the future hold bounty, or does it hold blight?Let’s go find out – oh, wait, damn, it’s the night…

The seer’s sundial, a prize for the scrying,Where mystics see futures without even trying,What prophecies pour from their prophetic lips?Well, let’s just go ask – damn, a solar eclipse…

The seer’s sundial, a gem for the ages,Where prognosticators read fate’s cryptic pages,Let’s stop in and give them a friendly ol’ “howdy,”And ask for a reading – damn, it’s partly cloudy!

The seer’s sundial, a pile of junk!The ones who go read it must clearly be drunk!Toss bones in the dirt or read cards made for play,It’s better than waiting for some sunny day!

OK, I laughed out loud at this.

Thanks! I was happy with this one. When I first read that card, my immediate thought was "That's possibly the silliest fortune-telling device I've ever heard of." So, here, I got to explore that reaction...

Work got cancelled today, and I haven't written anything in far too long. Don't have access to my computer with any of the stories I have been working on, so I'm just going to write something right here, on my phone, in a single session. We'll see how it goes.

untitled

Valan was uncomfortable, to say the least. It had been bad enough to be a night guard when the worst thing you could expect was a vampire or werewolf. At least you knew what to expect with those things. These days, you never knew what might happen. It hadn't happened to him yet, or to anyone in the town, but rumors travel fast and far. Apparently you couldn't even trust the angels these days. Not that Valan had ever seen an angel either. This little town (though technically it was hardly even a village) had never seen much trouble of any kind, not even during the absence. It was too small and frankly boring for even the humblest of stitchers to bother with.

So although Valan had years of experience, he still felt odd when it seemed something might actually happen. And it certainly seemed that way now. After all this time, something was moving in the shadows. This very morning, old Margot had been attacked and killed by her own chickens. The fowl had looked like the worms they had been eating were crawling out of their skin. Three men had used pikes to get them off of poor Margot, whom they had still been pecking away at. Once they were all in the coop, the priest had boarded it up, placed a ward, and lit it on fire. The chickens had burned without a sound.

There were rumors of demons, or even something worse. Valan didn't care what it was, he just didn't want to have to face it alone in the middle of the night. But here he was, lantern in one hand, the other resting on the hilt of his silver gilded dagger, fervently praying that this night would be as calm as the hundreds he had already spent on the one street there was to patrol.

His prayers were not answered. Or maybe they were, and the answer was "No." Either way, he suddenly saw movement in the shadows. Pressing himself closer to the wall of the nearest building, he slowly inched closer to the thing he thought he could see. Never before had he seen anyone or anything it at this time of night, and he was unsure how to proceed. Realizing that he was still carrying his lantern, he quickly did the cover shut. He did not want to be seen before he knew what might be looking at him.

Soon the unknown shape came into clearer view in the moonlight, but Valan still didn't quite know what he was looking at. It could be a bulky human or a lean bear. Or a wolfir, perhaps? That would make sense. Many wolfir still found it hard to be accepted, so they stayed away from towns during the day. And a wolfir could be friendly, and not at all a threat to the whole town. Or it could be a normal human traveling through. On the middle of the night. In a town that wasn't on any trade route. At this point, Valan decided to stop thinking about it. Thinking did not seem to help.

He was closer to the strange shape now. They were both huddling close to the wall of the little tavern, at opposite corners. The thing in the shadows seemed to looking in the window, so it had not noticed the night guard. The guard was not opposed to this arrangement. But right then a draft kindled the dying embers of the tavern fireplace, and a warm glow shone through the far window. Valan could see what was standing there, and it froze him to his core. Where he had hoped to see the face of a man or a wolf, there was no face at all. Under the figure's hood, Valan saw only a mass of tentacles.

Then everything happened much too fast. Valan was only vaguely aware of the lantern as it slid from his grip, but became painfully aware the moment it crashed to the ground and the cover came off. That was also the moment the figure turned to him. Although he could not see any eyes in the withing mass, he knew that the monster was looking right at him. As he desperately struggled with his dagger, the figure simply reached out and placed its hand in the wall. By the time Valan had unsheathed the dagger, he realized he should also raise the alarm. So without taking his eyes off the odd creature, he started fumbling in his pocket for the wooden whistle he carried. In the meantime, the creature just stood there, almost nonchalantly leaning against the wall. Finally the whistle was free, and with a smile Valan put it to his lips. And found he could not make a sound. Something had suddenly wrapped around his neck and pulled him right up against the wall. Panic-stricken, he tried to cut himself loose, only to find that his hand was also caught. Glancing down, he saw what was holding him. It off the wall, tentacles had sprouted and wrapped around him. The same tentacles which covered the creature standing in front of him. And although he knew that it was impossible, as the dropped lantern lit the grass beneath him, and his vision started to blur and fade, he could have sworn that the creature smiled before it turned and walked away.

@Aaarrrgh: Nice slice of life in Lovecraftian Innistrad. I like it. I think it might benefit from being expanded on a bit to draw out some of the tension, but for a short piece written on your phone, excellent!

I felt like writing, and decided to do something off of an old prompt in the thread.

Creature Bond

Varn realized he probably made for an amusing sight, running down a crowded street with an open bird cage in his arms. Still, he himself was not amused. He stopped in front of a Boros officer standing on the corner."Excuse me, sir, but have you seen a colorful bird come by here?""I don't know, could spend on who's asking."Varn suddenly noticed the surreptitiously outstretched hand in front of him, and quickly dug a few coins out of his pocket."A courier serving the Azorius, delivering an important gift which has rudely flown away from me! Please, sir, have you seen him?""Very well, I saw something colorful go down the street toward that Selesnya sanctuary a moment ago.""Thank you, kind sir! You are an honor to your guild!"

Varn took off running, cursing the fact that now he wouldn't even be able to afford a drink when the day was over. Supposing he would even survive the day. He cursed the bird getting away, he cursed himself for letting it get away, and he cursed the vedalken who had handed him the bird and the task the first place. But more than anything he cursed the spell his employer had put on him.

Suddenly he came to a stop. There it was! Just perched on a sign outside a store. A few people paused for new moments to admire unusual sight, but most just walked on by. Weaving through the crowd, Varn snuck up behind the bird and quickly jumped and grabbed it, quickly riding it into the cage and locking it. He was elated. Nothing bad had happened. Sure, the bird had lost a feather or two, but it wasn't injured in any way that it wouldn't immediately recover from.

But then a sudden memory made Varn cold. The exact words of his employer."This spell binds you to this creature until such a time as we are fit to free you, which will not be until you have delivered it to our contact in the ninth district. Until then, any harm which befalls the bird, down to the least broken feather, will be felt by you in equal proportion. In the event of the bird's untimely demise, you will likewise join. Thus, we advise utmost caution."

He looked at the bird with its broken feathers. He felt no pain. This was the wrong bird. As he tried to swallow his panic, he overheard a conversation from the nearby sanctuary, and turned in that direction.

"It is really rather amazing! I never thought they would be able to build the flock up to that extent. Granted, the Simic were invaluable in making the project thrive, but not even they expected this. They are even overflowing and leaving the park in the sanctuary! At the latest count, no less that 150 Birds of Paradise live on this block alone!"

I really liked Varn's exacerbation and frustration here. For such a short piece, you do a great job of communicating concisely how serious this is to Varn, while still keeping the tone from being too heavy. I also really liked Varn's realization just before the reveal.

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